The least relaxing massage ever

I had a massage today, one that I had planned for several weeks. After torturing myself on The South Beach Diet for 2 weeks, and then semi-torturing myself on a modified version of the diet for 2 more weeks, I had earned myself a reward. I look awesome, by the way, weighing in at my pre-kid weight.

My mom gave me a gift certificate specifically for a hot stone massage. She arranged for it with the spa and created a cute card from the printed out email certificate they sent her. The dollar value was clearly marked.

Here are 10 things that made me hate this massage. In no particular order.

Two weeks in advance, when I made the appointment, the receptionist asked if I have a preference for a man or a woman. I let her know that I prefer a woman. Two days in advance, they called to let me know that my masseuse would be a man. Ok, thanks for letting me know, but why couldn’t you satisfy my request when I made the appointment so far in advance?

While I was waiting, the receptionist offered me magazines in a totally awkward exchange. “Do you want InStyle! Or Cosmo!” she asked too loudly. I took both from her hands, but then saw that there was no place to set anything down. They gave me water also, but again, no place to set it down. I am already feeling physically uneasy. But this is getting picky.

The start of the massage consisted of the man applying lotion to my back in a random feeling, lightweight pressure. It felt like I had asked a girlfriend to apply sunscreen, not like a massage. Weird, but I tried to assume this is part of the hot stone methodology.

Some of the stones were too hot. I believe I am burned. The spot in which I am burned is pretty much the start of my butt crack. Did I want a scalding stone placed there?

In my past experience with massages, the masseuse typically tucks the sheets snugly around your legs and chest as your limbs are pulled out from under the covers, subtly reassuring you that your private parts are not being exposed. This masseuse did not do that, and I felt anxious that I was exposed at many points during the massage.

He went pretty far down my back(side) and came up pretty high on the thighs, without asking me if I care to have my tushy massaged. My past experience tells me that asking first is the norm. I felt uncomfortable.

When he asked me to turn over, he did not do the reassuring “I’m going to lift this sheet so that you can turn over.” He just told me to turn over and I took it upon myself to cling to the sheets and blankets to make sure I was covered.

At this point, you might be thinking, “Jesus, woman, you are 35 years old. Tell the man what you like and don’t like, and if you don’t like it, leave.” Well, let me assure you, that’s exactly what I was saying to myself in my head. But I didn’t leave.

Allow me to keep going with my list…

When I turned over, the lights were glaringly bright. I asked “Do you have anything to put over my eyes,” which I hoped was going to result in a lavender eye pillow. He searched in a drawer and put a dry, floppy washcloth over my eyes.

He said he was going to massage my belly. I don’t know how it happened that suddenly I had a dishtowel over my breasts and my belly exposed, but I felt pretty sure that he must have had more of my breast exposed than is ok with me. I tucked the dishtowel around me more tightly and endured for about 30 seconds. Then I said, “I feel uncomfortable with this. Can you pull up the covers and move on to the next thing?” Really, a belly massage for someone who has had two pregnancies (one of which was 42 weeks) has got to be just, well, gross looking, and I couldn’t relax with the image of what my kneaded abdomen flesh was looking like, although I couldn’t give a shit what this dude thinks of me.

Finally, he ended my torture with a weird massage of a thickish cream on my face. “What is he putting on my skin?” I wondered, worried that I was undergoing a zit-inducing pore suffocation session. When he proclaimed the massage finished (by the way, don’t rub someone’s face after their feet, please) and left the room, I sat up and looked around at his tools of the trade. He had been using Avalon Organics Hand and Body Lotion. On my face. WTF! I am not a picky or savvy consumer of cosmetics, but I do know that you don’t put hand lotion on your face. Blech!

I basically rushed out of there, thinking that I just need to go home and process and will call to voice my complaint later.

But not before I clarified that it was unacceptable to charge me more than the price of the gift certificate, since when I arrived, they had admired and acknowledged the gift certificate. And then post-massage announced that I owed $30 more. I don’t think so.

Then — the kicker.

I saw Heather for dinner and asked her how her treatment at that place had been two weeks prior since we had never talked about it and GUESS WHAT! THE SAME EXACT EXPERIENCE! (How could we have never talked about this?)

Heather had blamed herself, assuming she just didn’t care for a male masseuse. WRONG. The dude was totally unprofessional. I’m disgusted and furious. And I have a very mildly burnt butt crack.

Oh how horrific! My commiserations to you both.
Nothing worse than a burnt BC and what a shame for the whole world of massage which should offer the ultimate experience. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but simple, clean, dignified and by someone who knows what on earth they are doing.
I recently had the joy of a wonderful South Indian Rope Massage which is done with the feet (!) by a superb lady American/Israeli practitioner here in Goa. It was totally worth one hundred times every second of taking the time out to do it. I WILL some of that good experience your way!…..and hope you have a more positive experience soon. Knowing that you missed out on that makes me quite cross!

That is so awful and I understand how you could have been so flabbergasted that you couldn’t complain when you were at the salon. You should call them and complain to the manager for sure. If that goes nowhere, you might want to call the licensure board for massage therapists in your state (he sounds so bad, I wonder if he was trained at all). And there is always yelp and other online sources to warn unsuspecting customers. So sorry!

I have a hot stone massage coming up, and while it’s at the same place where I usually go, it’s with a different dude and now you’ve got me all freaked out.

I’ll admit I normally see a man who is about 50-something and totally harmless, and I even okayed the glute massage because biking can do a number on the derriere. I always feel comfortable with the boundaries.

Please please PLEASE file a complaint (both of you) with the salon that hired this guy. They need to know that he is making people uncomfortable. I recommend doing it in writing, both for your own comfort and for a paper trail. (Also, your writing is awesome and will do the job well.) Even if his actions weren’t technically inappropriate, they made clients uncomfortable which means he needs some remedial communications and professionalism training.

While I share in your horror of such blatant un-professionalism and all around bad practices…I’ve gotta say, the way you tell it, this was funny as all hell to read, lol. I hope you send them the link to this awesome review :0)

Oh no! I’ve been wanting to try the hot stone thingy, but forget it now. I’m sorry it wasn’t more relaxing or enjoyable, when a mom gets time away for something for herself, it damn sure better be pretty freakin’ awesome! I’m sure I wouldn’t have complained, I would’ve just gotten nervous which always causes me to sweat, then I would’ve gotten embarrassed b/c I was sweating which would’ve caused me to sweat more; a vicious cycle I can never break. So I probably would have left the place crying, sweating, burned, and funky. So, thanks for sharing:) Your blog is awesome, by the way!

The Rookie Moms™

Heather (L) & Whitney (R) are BFFs who wanted to have more fun with their babies. [read more]